


Blurred Lines and Broken Rules

by GlitterAndDoom



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterAndDoom/pseuds/GlitterAndDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam gets sick, and Tommy helps make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Lines and Broken Rules

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Blurred Lines and Broken Rules  
>  **Rating:** Mostly SFW  
>  **Pairing:** Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff  
>  **Summary:** Adam gets sick, and Tommy helps him feel better.  
>  **Warnings:** Sickfic, lack of sex  
>  **Author's Notes:** Written for _my_ glam_kink prompt - _Adam gets a stomachache, and Tommy rubs his belly to make him feel better. May or may not lead to ~more afterward, IDC, just as long as I get some of the lighter kind of h/c and to see someone taking care of Adam._ because I wasn't feeling well at the time. Somebody else filled it while I was working on it, then I filled it myself.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these people, and this stuff is all lies.
> 
> _[Originally posted on](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/664.html?thread=222616#t222616) glam_kink_

It had been one of the worst shows of his tour.

Oh, the performance had been fine...average...not bad enough to make him cringe. He'd somehow still earned plenty of the usual screams and applause, but just barely, surely. Everything seemed to go downhill after the vague queasiness and the dull ache in his stomach that he'd had all day got worse, hitting him like several hard kicks to the gut right before he stepped onstage. At least he didn't collapse or puke all over the front row, the band, or the dancers, but he came damn close to losing what little he'd eaten when he'd leaned toward Tommy during "Fever."

Neil would've never let him live the irony down had that happened, and Adam probably would've been in need of a new bass player. Sure, Tommy was tolerant, but there _were_ limits.

...Weren't there? Fuck, he couldn't tell with Tommy sometimes; they'd blurred so many of the lines of closeness. Where _did_ disgusting illnesses fall in their weird, unspoken code?

But he'd survived, and through some lucky twist of fate, he'd managed to get back to the hotel without anyone seeming to notice just how miserable he was. By the time he finally got to stagger back to his room, with a bottle of ginger ale he'd gotten someone to get for him, he had a death grip on his belly and was past the point of caring if anyone saw—"Glambert: Sick, Drunk, Beaten Up, Recovering from Plastic Surgery, or Somehow Secretly Pregnant?" headlines be damned (and God knew those idiots at the tabloids would find an excuse for that last part). Still, he was half-expecting to encounter some overexcited fan or a camera-wielding paparazzo along the way, but not to find Tommy standing outside his door, texting.

Tommy looked up when he heard Adam, and apparently Adam looked as bad as he felt, because Tommy quickly put his phone away and hurried to Adam's side. "You okay?" Wordlessly, Adam leaned heavily against Tommy and fumbled in his pocket for his key card as Tommy supported his weight. "Shit, you're burning up."

Adam half-wanted to make a suggestive remark about Tommy calling him hot, but all he could manage was a wan smile as he unlocked the door. His nerves were frayed, his cheeks were probably as red as Tommy's lipstick, his stomach was killing him, his belt and jeans were digging painfully into the bottom of his belly, and he was long past ready to collapse on the nearest flat surface—hopefully _without_ swooning in the arms of his adorably gorgeous bassist first. "I feel like hell."

"No shit. Need a hand?" Tommy followed Adam into the room and locked the door behind them.

"I need to lie down." Preferably cuddled up next to a warm lover who was rubbing away the ache, but he'd settle for wrapping himself around a pillow and wallowing in his misery. No matter how much he liked Tommy, no matter how much the lines had been blurred, they were just friends. While they'd cuddled and kissed far more than once, even offstage, asking Tommy to take care of him now, asking him to do things like hold him all night and rub his stomach seemed too...intimate, so he wouldn't. Instead, he put his bottle on the nightstand and sank down onto the bed, and didn't even look at Tommy as he unhooked his belt and unzipped his jeans. If Tommy had a problem with it, fuck him. Adam ran a hand over his belly and let out a small sigh of relief that turned into a soft groan as another pain stabbed through his middle.

Tommy grimaced. "That bad, huh?"

Adam shook his head. "Worse." He clenched his eyes closed and breathed deeply, clutching his stomach. "Hurts."

Tommy got down on his knees and began taking Adam's boots off. "Let's get you more comfortable, yeah?"

"God, yes." He fell back against the mattress, and he slipped his jeans lower on his hips. They were the most comfortable pair he owned, and even they were torturous on him now. "Could you get me some sweats out of my bag, too, please?" He was feeling chilly, feverish, and he wanted to preserve at least a shred of his ruined dignity.

"Was already planning on it." Tommy sat the boots aside and pulled off Adam's socks, and he patted Adam on the knee as he got up to rummage through the bags.

Pulling off his jeans took far more effort than it _ever_ should have, and by the time Tommy had found some pants, Adam had fallen back on the bed, breathing heavily and holding his stomach. "Sorry about this," Adam said. "If it's not a problem, would you—"

"I'd be complaining if I had a problem with it," Tommy grumbled, already helping Adam into the sweatpants. "You're sick. You need somebody to take care of you." Once Adam was dressed and buried under the blankets, he expected Tommy to say goodnight and head out, not to sit down next to him and begin lightly stroking his stomach through the covers. Adam jerked his head up in surprise, and Tommy smiled sheepishly. "Is this too weird?"

Adam shook his head. He was craving someone to be close to, especially with Tommy already taking care of him, and since Tommy was offering more comfort..."Weird is okay sometimes." Another sharp twinge settled the argument. "And my stomach kind of hurts too much for me to care right now." He gave Tommy a pleading look. "More?"

"Sure." Tommy crawled up beside Adam, moving slowly, like he was being careful not to jostle Adam's roiling stomach, then pushed down the covers and rolled up Adam's shirt. "Where?" He gestured toward Adam's bared abdomen.

"All over." He guided one of Tommy's hands down below his navel, then pressed the other high on his stomach, and Tommy began to rub in slow, gentle circles across Adam's belly. Adam relaxed into the touch as it soothed the ache, a welcome counterpoint to the pain inside.

"Sorry if my hands are cold."

Adam shook his head, and he reached weakly for his drink. He _liked_ the feeling of Tommy's cool hands on his overheated skin. "'s nice." Finally, his fingers closed around the damp plastic bottle, and he pulled it to him and took a small sip. "Think I have a fever."

"And you've got me alone with it." It took a moment longer than usual for Adam to get the reference, and when he did, he stuck out his tongue. Tommy smirked, but his grin quickly turned serious. "Yeah, that's why I came up here instead of hanging out with the others. You looked like you were gonna, like, pass out or some shit when we were doing that song, and I wanted to make sure you got back here okay."

"You worried about me?" Tommy shrugged, and Adam couldn't help but smile. "Aw, that's sweet."

"Shut up."

Adam chuckled, and he closed his bottle and put it back on the table. "You're not fooling anyone, glitterbaby. You—" Another spasm twisted his insides, sharper and more painful than the others, and Adam exclaimed, "Oh, _fuck_ , my belly...Ow!" and curled up, pressing his hands hard against the cramp. While he whimpered and swore and tried to ease the pain, Tommy pulled him into his arms and murmured calming, soothing words in his ear.

When it finally settled back into the harsh, nagging hurt, Adam let out a low breath and snuggled against Tommy. "Thank you. This really sucks. So glad you're here." Tommy nodded, and he let go of Adam. Adam grabbed his wrist. "Please don't leave me."

"Shh, I'm not going anywhere. You need to lay back down, baby." Adam released Tommy's wrist, and Tommy helped him onto his back again and resumed the massage. The conversation died down, and Tommy focused on Adam's belly while Adam turned his attention toward watching Tommy. Tommy was so intent as he moved his rough fingertips across Adam's skin, so careful as he tried to rub every inch of Adam's stomach. If he pressed hard enough to make Adam flinch and squirm, Adam didn't have to tell him for him to lighten his touch, and if Adam needed him to push deeper, he only had to nudge the tops of Tommy's fingers. Tommy's face didn't even change whenever Adam's insides complained out loud and made Adam blush; he just tried to find and soothe the places that grumbled and growled with his long, strong fingers. He seemed so comfortable with taking care of Adam, and it made Adam feel safe. Fuck, Tommy was too perfect, and it was like he was blurring those damn impassable lines even more with each brush of his fingertips across Adam's skin.

Finally, Adam started to drift off, then Tommy said, "You know, if I get this shit from you, you're, like, _bound_ to take care of me now."

"Mm." Tommy wouldn't even have to ask—the second Tommy started feeling bad, Adam would be there. "Don't think it's contagious—think it might've been something I ate. No idea what. Just _sucks_."

"Well, if I don't get it, you _have_ to take care of me next time I get sick. It's kind of a rule."

"Sick, hurt, hungover." Adam shuddered; he didn't like the idea of Tommy suffering through any of those. "I'll be there, if I can."

"You'd better be." Tommy gave him one of the least serious stern looks Adam had ever seen, and Adam replied with a pout. Tommy crossed his arms and huffed, sulking. "No fair. Your pout's fucking ridiculous."

"Aww." Adam poked his bottom lip out further, and he gave Tommy a wounded look and held his stomach. "My tummy hurts. You're not allowed to make fun of someone with a tummyache. Since you're talking about _rules_."

"Dork." Tommy rolled his eyes. "If the fangirls saw you now, you'd destroy all their fantasies about you being a kinky badass motherfucker who eats nails, jizzes glitter, and spanks bassists for breakfast."

"Or they'd all make big, googly eyes at me and beg to rub my poor little belly." The thought made him feel queasier, and he and Tommy shared a horrified look.

"And then you'd have to let them, 'cause you're too sick to escape."

"Ugh." Adam shuddered again. "Okay, yeah, if the alternative is batshit crazy fans, you can make fun of my pout all you want." It took too much energy for him to say that, and he let his hands fall by his sides. It didn't take long for him to become all too aware that the aching inside was nowhere near gone. "Tommy?" His voice sounded pitiful, even to his own ears.

"Hm?"

Adam gave Tommy another pouty look. "Would you rub my poor little belly some more? It still hurts."

"You want something else for it?" Tommy uncrossed his arms, and he laid one of his hands over Adam's navel and traced around it with his thumb. "Want me to see if I can get you some medicine or something?"

Adam shook his head. "Don't think I need it. Don't want you to go." Every time it seemed like Tommy was going to get up, Adam felt a burst of worry pierce his chest. The idea of being left alone with his sick and hurting stomach grew more and more unappealing with each second Tommy was with him.

"I'm _not_ leaving 'til you throw me out. Really. I told you I wouldn't. I'll keep rubbing your stomach all night if you want me to. But it might make you feel better if you took something. Okay?"

"Probably couldn't keep it down."

"But is it okay if I got someone to bring something, just in case? Like a heating pad or something?" Adam nodded. "I'll call someone, and I'll be right back." Tommy patted Adam's stomach lightly, and he climbed out of the bed. Instantly, Adam missed the warmth of Tommy's small body against his side and the gentle, comforting press of Tommy's hands on him. He wondered if he _could_ convince Tommy to stay all night—or even longer—and he cursed himself mentally for it. Just because the lines were blurry didn't mean they were gone completely. He sighed.

Finally, after what felt like way too long, Tommy put his phone on the other bedside table and got back on the bed, barefoot this time, and crawled under the covers. "Someone's gonna bring some stuff up later, just in case you want it." Tommy snaked his hands out from under the bedsheets and began massaging Adam's belly again. "And Sasha was calling you an old man on Twitter, by the way, so I had to defend your honor or whatever." Tommy waved a hand, and Adam quirked his lips. "Don't be surprised if 'feel better Adam' starts trending now."

"Oh, _God_." Adam cringed. "What'd you tell 'em?"

"That you were, like, spewing green shit all over the place and I was in need of a good priest." Adam glared, and Tommy smirked. "I just said you were sick and that I was keeping an eye on you—I didn't say what was wrong."

"And now they're gonna start thinking we really are _together_." Like they ever stopped.

"Well, we could be." Adam's eyes went wide, and Tommy stilled his hands. "I mean—"

"Don't." Tommy had gotten his hopes up so many times—accidentally—since they'd met, smashing the boundaries, pushing the envelope, blurring those goddamn lines. Adam didn't think he could handle it if Tommy was kidding right now. "I swear, if you're 'curious,' or joking, or—"

"I know what I want." Tommy's eyes met his, and Adam could see he was dead serious. His heart skipped a beat. "But if you don't want us—"

"I want," he said, before Tommy could talk himself out of the idea. "So, so much. I want there to be an 'us.' I want us to be together. I think it would be totally amazing, and I would kiss your face off right now if I wasn't so disgusting."

"You're not disgusting."

"How am I not disgusting? I'm bloated and pukey and ugh, ew, sick. I can barely hold my head up, my stomach looks fucking swollen and it's _killing_ me—"

"Okay, one, I can barely tell that your gut's sticking out— _really_. It probably feels bigger than it is 'cause there's so much bad stuff going on in it. And two, there's plenty of people who could take one look at you right now—pale, pukey, bloated, crampy, bitchy Adam Lambert—and they'd still wanna fuck you through the mattress. _I_ wouldn't, 'cause I'm not into getting sick or having people blow chunks all over me, but some of them probably _are_ and would love to build a shrine to your sacred sparkling vomit. Want me to hunt them down and give 'em a call?"

Adam was taken aback, and he squinted at Tommy. "Did you really just say 'sacred sparkling vomit'?"

"Yes, I did. Please don't make me say it again."

"Oh, _ew_." Adam clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to suppress a giggle. He failed. "Okay, you win the 'Which One of Us is the Most Disgusting? Award.' I can't top that." He thought about what he said for a moment, and added, "I wouldn't _want_ to top that."

"You _must_ be feeling better," Tommy grumbled.

"It was ridiculous! I mean—oh, _shit_." Adam's laughs died when his stomach lurched, and he scrambled for the garbage can. Tommy held him up, and Adam waited, repeating, "I hate this, I hate this," but nothing happened. He felt like whatever burst of energy he'd had suddenly vanished into the ether, and he slumped back against Tommy and reached for his ginger ale. "Speaking of vomit," he said wryly.

"Not okay, then."

Adam shook his head, and he sipped at his drink. "I think it's gonna be a long night."

"I'll be here," Tommy said, and he kissed the back of Adam's neck. "C'mon, babyboy. Lay back down."

Adam let Tommy ease him back down, and he put Tommy's hands on his belly again. Tommy gave him a questioning look, but started rubbing anyway, thankfully. Adam's insides were starting to squirm insistently once more, and he felt heavy all over, weak and unmistakeably ill. Hopefully Tommy could get him relaxed again, enough that he'd be able to sleep. At least he had the next day off, even though he'd have to spend it on the bus. But then, after he was better..."So glad you're here. Love you."

"I know. I—" Someone knocked at the door, and Tommy sighed. "I love you, too. Be right back."

Adam sank against his pillow and waited. Tommy came back, carrying a paper sack with a pharmacy logo on the side. "Looks like they forgot the heating pad, but they got your drugs. You still not want 'em?"

Adam pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really. They take too long. Would rather cuddle." He almost definitely couldn't keep them down. Adam patted the empty space beside him on the huge bed, and he gave Tommy the pout again. "Come back to bed with me." Tommy let out an amused huff, and he set the bag on the dresser before taking off his jeans and rejoining Adam under the blankets. Adam crawled into his open arms and rested his head on Tommy's chest, and Tommy resumed massaging Adam's stomach without prompting. "'s good," Adam murmured. He nuzzled against Tommy. "You really gonna stay?"

Tommy sighed. "Like I said—unless you kick me out, you're not getting rid of me tonight." As Adam started drifting off, he kissed Tommy's chest. Tommy yawned, and asked, "We're together now, aren't we?"

"And it's gonna be awesome," Adam murmured, smiling, and he finally fell asleep for a little while.


End file.
